


Underneath the Christmas Lights

by xxDustNight88



Series: Holmes for the Holidays [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Lights, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Healing, Hermione Granger-centric, Hermione was attacked, Implied Violence, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-15 20:12:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13038558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxDustNight88/pseuds/xxDustNight88
Summary: In which Hermione is attacked and John brings her to 221B Baker Street to heal, only Sherlock isn't as welcoming as the good doctor…at first.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GaeilgeRua](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaeilgeRua/gifts).



> Okay, so first of all, this story is not a one-shot. It just couldn't be. Something about this prompt just exploded and I swear I never expected that at all. It's going to have a part two, so be on the lookout for that. That said, I enjoyed writing this one and the words just flew from my fingers like magic. I can't wait to see what you think and to write the second part, although that might take a few days. Nevertheless, it will be available before Christmas! Thanks as always for the wonderful feedback and for sticking around with me through my crazy writing antics!
> 
> Thank you to starrnobella for beta reading and SquarePeg72 for alpha reading! Much love, xxDustNigh
> 
> Disclaimer: All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.
> 
> Written for GaeilgeRua who has been one of my favorite authors for ages and is now one of my very closest friends. This prompt was brilliant and I have to thank you from the bottom of my heart for inspiring me. I love you! I truly hope this is everything you wanted and more!
> 
> Prompt: After being attacked in Muggle London just before Christmas, Hermione finds herself being treated by Dr Watson in his home. Over the next few days as she heals, his acerbic flatmate catches her eye.
> 
> Song Recommendation: "Underneath the Christmas Lights" by Sia  
> [Holmes for the Holidays Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/1246401351/playlist/1prfNYC9f8LMVVqPzgjs5l)

. . . .

" _You're all I need tonight,_  
_Here by the Christmas lights."_  
\- Underneath the Christmas Lights, Sia

. . . .

Consciousness returned to Hermione slowly, her head aching something fierce. Vaguely, she recalled being tripped into the road and then dragged into an alley. As pain flared within her chest, she also remembered being kicked multiple times, as well as her hair being pulled and her neck being choked. That explained the soreness when she swallowed. What she didn't recall was ending up on a random sofa, her wounds seemingly tended to and a warm blanket under which to lay.

Hermione had been attacked and for reasons unknown at this point, but that still didn't explain why she was here. Squinting into the early morning darkness, she tried to figure out her surroundings, but it was difficult. Still in London, by the sound coming from outside, Hermione wracked her addled brain to figure out what may have occurred.

She remembered not reaching for her wand like she normally would, not sensing a magical core from her attacker. He'd used surprise to his advantage, the suddenness of the fall startling her entirely. She'd been on her way home from work, wanting to stop by Speedy's for a quick meal to take with her. Only, she'd never made it. She recalled the stench of the man's breath as he beat her and then kicked her too. She'd tried to fight back, but it was no use. If the doctor hadn't shown up when he did, she could only imagine what would have happened.

That's when she remembered the doctor. John, she believed his name was. He'd taken down the attacker with ease, effectively breaking the man's leg and spraining his arm. Hermione had tried to get up but her body wouldn't allow it. John had been kind, saying she was safe and that he was a doctor who would take care of her. Right before she passed out, she recalled him saying he lived nearby and asked her name. She didn't remember giving it to him before passing out.

Now, she was apparently in his flat, but she needed to get home. She needed to find her wand and figure out why she was attacked. Harry would worry when she didn't show up for work in the morning. She never missed a day. Her head ached and so did her body, but she tried to move. Unfortunately, she never got the chance. At that moment a door was thrown open and slammed closed downstairs before the sound of footsteps echoed on the staircase. Quickly, Hermione feigned sleep, still unsure about this entire situation.

Hermione turned her head away and half covered her face with the blanket a split second before the person reached the top of the stairs. "John!" the man shouted, not bothering to be quiet in case other people were sleeping. "John! Where are you?!"

More footsteps sounded, this time coming down from the upstairs. "Shhh!" John hissed in apparent irritation. "Lower your voice or you'll wake everyone up."

"Mrs. Hudson's been awake for hours, John. I know because I woke her to ask where she-" Still talking rather loudly, Hermione heard the man grunt as if John had smacked him on the arm or someplace else.

"Not Mrs. Hudson, you dolt.  _Her_ ," John explained, probably pointing to where she was 'sleeping' on the sofa.

"Who's that?" This was spoken in a mere whisper, filled with curiosity. "A client?"

"No, I rescued her from some petty criminal last night. The man was beating her in the alley across the way." John's voice was soft, full of concern. "He didn't do anything else besides that, but I think he may have taken her belongings. I couldn't find any when I brought her back here."

"No identification then?"

"None."

"Then who is she?"

"When I asked, before she lost consciousness, she mumbled something that sounded like Harmony, but it was hard to tell." There were footsteps then, as if both John and the other man crept closer to examine her a little more. Hermione tried not to cringe at the name, wishing she could just tell them who she really was, but that would force her to admit she'd been eavesdropping the entire time.

"How extensive are her injuries?" the other man asked, his footsteps moving away slightly.

"Enough that she shouldn't be transported anywhere right now. I didn't want to call an ambulance and have her lost in the system." John too walked further away. "Now, can you be quiet? She's sleeping."

The other man hummed in a way that was condescending. It was almost as if he knew something John did not and with a start, Hermione realized he probably knew she was awake. Before she could roll over, however, the man simply said, "Fine. I'm going to catch a few hours sleep. Are you staying here?"

"Yeah, I'll be upstairs so I can check on her when needed." And then as an afterthought, he added, "And don't bother her. I'll check on her when I wake up later."

"Goodnight, John."

"Goodnight."

Once both their footsteps had faded away, John's upstairs and the other man's down the hall, Hermione opened her eyes and rolled onto her back to stare at the ceiling. She really needed to be leaving but moving was not the best right now. In fact, Hermione shifted in an attempt to sit up. Pain erupted in her chest. Broken ribs were not conducive to making a quick and quiet exit. As her head gave another throb, she had to concede that with a possible concussion as well, she was going nowhere. With a heavy sigh, Hermione closed her eyes, pulled the quilt around herself, and then allowed sleep to claim her once more.

* * *

 

A light tapping on her shoulder woke her a few hours later, and as she opened her eyes, she had to admit to feeling slightly better. John was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, blue eyes warm with concern. He smiled as she yawned and returned the gesture. "Morning," she mumbled before attempting to sit up. A groan left her as she remembered her possibly broken ribs.

"Whoa," John said gently, immediately reaching forward to aid her in sitting up. "Easy, now." He put one hand behind her back and then hoisted her so that her chest didn't ache as much as it would have had she tried to do this on her own. "There you go. I take it that you're not feeling any better than last night?"

"I'm conscious," she pointed out with a smirk. He laughed and then she added, "Thank you, by the way. For both helping me just now and saving my sorry arse last night in that alley. I should have been more aware of my surroundings."

"You're welcome, and it could have happened to anyone," he replied with a shrug. "It's just lucky that I happened to be walking by when it was going on or who knows what would have happened." He visibly shuddered and she frowned, unwilling to admit that the thought had crossed her mind as well.

"Yes, well, I owe you." She reached out and patted his knee gently which earned her a warm smile.

"I'm John, by the way. Dr. John Watson," he told her then, turning to grab something on the coffee table. "I told you last night, but I wasn't sure if it registered. You were really out of it." He handed her two medicine tablets and a glass of water which she took gratefully. "And I'm sorry I don't have anything stronger, I can't really keep that sort of thing here at the flat but I will make sure to bring you something later."

Popping the tablets into her mouth, she drank some water to wash them down and then handed the glass back to John. "Thank you. I remembered your name, but I should probably introduce myself. I'm Hermione Granger."

"Not Harmony." He laughed, shaking his head. "I wasn't sure if that's what you said last night or not. Well, either way, I'm glad to meet you, even under such circumstances. Here," he muttered, returning the glass to the table and handing her a hot mug of tea instead. "I'm sure you could use this. Sorry I don't have anything for you to eat, but Mrs. Hudson said she'd bring you up a late breakfast a little later."

Hermione took the tea and held it between both hands, relishing the warmth is radiated. "This is lovely, thanks. I'm not much of a breakfast person, so that's okay. Who is Mrs. Hudson?" Hermione asked canting her head in question.

"She's the landlady. Lives in the flat downstairs," John told her standing and brushing the wrinkles out of his trousers. "She insists she's not the housekeeper, but she pops upstairs to clean and cook now and then."

"Oh," Hermione replied, finally taking a sip of the tea. She felt it beginning to warm her from the inside out and smiled. "I don't want to be a burden. I could just leave."

"No way, Hermione," John said, the tone of his voice changing from concerned stranger to strict doctor in an instant. She quirked an eyebrow at the difference but he ignored her. "You're in no condition to travel right now, and I'd like to examine you again later. Unfortunately, I have to go to work for a few hours. I should be back by five or so if we don't get too many walk-ins."

"Do you work at a hospital?" she inquired, taking another sip of tea and not bothering to push the subject about her leaving.

"It's more of a clinic, really. My wife, Mary, works there too." He slid a hand into his pocket and then pulled out a mobile phone. "Speaking of that, I never asked; do you have someone you need to call?"

Hermione frowned. She knew he was insinuating that maybe she had a boyfriend or a husband that would be looking for her, but he was wrong. The only person who'd be looking for her was her best friend and coworker. "I am meant to be at work today so I should probably get in touch with Harry. He's my best friend and works with me."

"Here," John said simply, handing her his mobile. "You can give him a call with that."

Biting her lip, Hermione realized it was well after the normal start time at the Ministry. While they did carry mobiles, they were unable to receive calls with all the magic at the Ministry. Texts sometimes made it through, though. "Uh, is it okay if I text? It's just that, we're not supposed to receive calls at work and I don't want him to get in trouble."

"That's fine. Go right ahead. I'm going to run upstairs and grab a few things before I head out."

He left her then, disappearing out the door and up the stairs to where she suspected his bedroom was located. Her face crumpled in thought as she stared at the mobile. If he was married, where was Mary and why did they live with another man? Figuring it really was none of her business, she set about trying to figure out what to tell Harry so he wouldn't panic. She was already late, something entirely out of character for her, so she could only imagine what was going through his head.

_Harry, I was attacked last night walking home. Luckily, there was a doctor nearby to help me out. I'm safe at the moment but 'all' of my belongings were taken. I'm staying with the doctor until I'm healed enough to travel. If you need me, you can reach me at this number._

It was the best she could do without confusing John, who she assumed would probably read the text when she gave the phone back later. She really couldn't say Muggle London, her wand was taken, or that she couldn't floo or apparate just yet. That would really set off alarm bells for the doctor, who would probably assume she needed a mental hospital instead. Yeah, Harry was just going to have to worry a while until he could give her a proper call later on.

John appeared with his jacket already on but as she held the mobile back out to him, he shook his head. "No, you go on and keep that today. I don't really need it. The only people who really call me are Mary and Sherlock."

"Okay…" She set the mobile on her lap and then bit her lip looking around. "Uh… Is it okay if I move around a little later, I might need the loo." She wanted to ask who Sherlock was, but thought that might be too forward.

"That slipped my mind, but yes. Just be really careful. I wrapped your wounds as best I could, but you need to be easy. Don't push yourself too hard." Clearing his throat, he turned and pointed down the hall, "The loo's down there. Door on the left, actually. The last door is Sherlock's room. Best not to go in there."

"Sherlock?" Hermione asked, remembering the voice of the man who was speaking with John earlier that morning. Craning her neck, she ignored the aching from where her attacker had tried strangling her so she could catch a glimpse of the closed door. Sherlock was a mystery to her, one she intended to solve before she left this flat.

"Yeah, my former flatmate. I used to live here before I married Mary and we had Rosie. Now, I live elsewhere but still occasionally stay the night if Sherlock and I are working a case." Clearing his throat, John glanced at his watch and made a face. "I'm sure he'll tell you all about himself once he's awake later. I have to go, but make yourself at home."

"Thank you, Dr. Watson," Hermione said sincerely, pulling her gaze from the door to smile up at him.

"Call me John, and really, it's no problem," he told her before disappearing down the stairs.

Sitting quietly, Hermione contemplated her situation for a while as she sipped her tea. Glancing across the room, she noticed a few shelves with books and found that she might as well get up and use the loo and grab a book to read before getting comfortable on the sofa for the day. It was bound to be long and tedious, a completely different change from the usual hussle and bussle of her regular schedule. In the meantime, she could ponder more on the elusive man who was still asleep behind the door at the end of the hall.

* * *

 

It was well past one when Sherlock finally appeared. Hermione heard him before she saw him, his door quickly opening, followed by the shuffling of feet as he made his way into the kitchen. Resting her book in her lap, Hermione waited patiently for a glimpse of him. Mrs. Hudson had brought up lunch a little while ago, spending some time with Hermione before disappearing back downstairs. She seemed nice enough, a bit nosy, but definitely kind hearted. Now, Sherlock, he was the one Hermione was most interested in getting to know.

Random sounds echoed from the kitchen as he prepared himself some tea and then, finally, there he was. Hermione's eyes went wide seeing him wrapped in nothing but a white sheet from head to toe. He made no sign of noticing her where she sat still as a statue. Sherlock shuffled his way to a well-worn chair by the fireplace and curled up to thoughtfully sip his tea. A grin tugged at her lips knowing she was about to disrupt him from whatever thoughts held him so captivated.

"You must be Sherlock," she said simply, enjoying the way he stopped mid-sip to turn and stare at her with narrowed eyes. "John told me that this was your flat." When still Sherlock did not swallow his tea or make an effort to speak, her grin widened. "I'm Hermione," she prompted, hoping he would get the point and finally say something.

Something must have clicked in his head because he swallowed his mouthful of tea and set aside the mug. Slowly, Sherlock unfurled himself from the chair and walked toward her, his hands gripping his sheet tightly as if to keep it from falling from his obviously naked body. He stopped once he stood just on the other side of the coffee table, his sea-colored eyes examining her as if she were a specimen on the microscope she noticed he kept on the kitchen table. Although she was not the one wearing little to nothing, Hermione suddenly felt entirely exposed under his scrutiny.

"Do you often walk around in nothing but a sheet?" she inquired, earning herself a sniff in response. It made her smirk, but she refused to break their stare.

"Sometimes I wear a dressing gown," Sherlock informed her, promptly stepping onto the coffee table and then off of it to sit at the other end of the sofa. She gave him a disgruntled look, but he ignored it to gesture at her with one hand. "Do you often spend the night on stranger's couches?"

Though she knew he meant it innocently enough, it still caused her to blanch. "Uh, no… Normally, I make it home in time to sleep in my own bed." Biting back a rude retort, she tried again. "I take it you'd rather I wasn't here?"

He gave her a once over again, his eyes lingering on the cut under her eye, the bruises around her neck, and the way she held her chest stiff to keep it from aching as she sat against the arm of the couch. "John felt you were not well enough to be taken to the hospital. I trust his judgement. You may stay as long as you may need." He stood and turned away, forgetting about his tea. Pausing halfway to his bedroom, he swiftly turned and gave her a curious glare. "Just stay out of my way."

As Hermione's mouth popped open in surprise, Sherlock whirled back around and then vanished into his bedroom once more. She certainly hadn't been expecting  _that_  kind of response from John's friend. Frowning, she glanced back at the book in her lap, suddenly wondering if when Harry finally called she wouldn't ask if he could get a cab to rescue her from this place. Obviously, Sherlock didn't want her in his flat, and she truly had no idea why.

* * *

 

John came home before Harry called, meaning she still hadn't been able to make a plan of escape. She'd spent the afternoon sitting on the couch reading through a few books and listening for signs of movement from Sherlock's room. There were a few times she heard thumps or shuffling, but other than that, she'd been left completely alone. The silence was starting to really get to her so she was thankful for the company once again.

"Hey," he called out as he dumped a few bags of groceries on the table in the kitchen after shoving Sherlock's things aside. "I grabbed a few things to make dinner. How are you feeling?" He shrugged out of his jacket as he walked into the living room, his face pink from the cold but still there was a smile on his face.

"I'm feeling okay. Still really sore, but I can breathe a little easier," she informed him, setting aside the book she'd been reading. She would have been feeling  _a lot_  better if she had access to her wand, but after checking the sleeve of her jacket earlier, she was disappointed to find that her attacker really had taken everything she had on her. Frowning, she looked at her lap. "Actually, I'm hoping my friend calls soon and can come and get me."

"What?" John asked, sitting down on the sofa. "Why? Did something happen?"

"I feel like I'm putting you out… I know you don't typically live here and I'm not sure I'm really welcome…" She glanced briefly at Sherlock's closed door and then back at John, who frowned.

John twisted around to stare at Sherlock's door too before glancing back at her. "Did Sherlock say something to you?" He sounded concerned, and a bit annoyed, if she was honest.

"Well, he told me to stay out of his way," she admitted, picking at the quilt. "It's not like I'm really in the way stuck here on the sofa. It's okay, though, Harry will come and get me if I ask."

"Absolutely not," John replied, jumping to his feet and already marching toward the back bedroom. "You're welcome here for as long as you need to heal. You're not going anywhere until those ribs of yours have healed enough to walk up and down stairs. Just give me a minute. I'll be right back and then I'll make dinner."

Hermione didn't say anything in reply before he was pounding on Sherlock's door. She tried to peek and see what was happening as the door cracked open, but John forced his way inside and slammed it shut. Hermione blinked in surprise as the shouting started, mostly John, but she could hear Sherlock's baritone interjecting now and then. This went on for nearly ten minutes all while Hermione sat idly on the couch, feeling more embarrassed than before. She didn't want to cause a rift between the two friends, especially since she could easily have Harry come and heal her enough to take her home.

She couldn't admit that to John and Sherlock, though, not without violating the International Statute of Secrecy. Instead, she sat there awkwardly until John came back out, slamming the door again, before pausing to smile down at her on the couch. He clapped both hands together and smiled. "Right, then," he began, "I'm going to make dinner and then we'll check your bandages and give you some  _real_ pain medicine."

"Okay," was all she could manage in response before he was turning and heading back to the kitchen.

There was no more noise from Sherlock's room that evening, but when she woke sometime in the middle of the night to use the loo, she found the bedroom door wide open. Looking back and forth briefly to make sure she was alone, she snuck a peek into the room to find it empty as well. Where was Sherlock and why was he so against having her in the flat? Whatever the reason, Hermione was certain that it wouldn't matter for much longer anyway. Surely, Harry would get back to her in the morning and then she could be free of this place and then Sherlock could go back to having the flat to himself.

* * *

 

Morning came, and with it, the realization that Christmas was only a few days away. When Hermione opened her eyes it was to find Mrs. Hudson decorating a Christmas tree against the wall between the door and the kitchen, the lights and most of the bulbs already making the branches look festive and charming. Before alerting the landlady to her awakeness, Hermione glanced around to make sure no one else was present, specifically Sherlock. They were alone, so Hermione struggled into a sitting position and greeted the landlady.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson," she said as cheerfully as she could manage. She was feeling a little worse for wear, two nights sleeping on a sofa not exactly conducive to healing.

Upon hearing her voice, Mrs. Hudson turned around with a candy cane in her hand and a warm smile on her face. "Good morning, dear. I hope I didn't wake you."

Finally comfortable, Hermione shook her head. "No, it wasn't you. I don't typically sleep this much as it is. The tree looks beautiful."

"Thank you, dear. Sherlock can't be bothered to decorate for the holiday so I took matters into my own hands. We don't usually have guests for Christmas," she told her as she hung the candy cane on a bare branch. Stepping back, Mrs. Hudson admired her work and then wandered into the kitchen. She began making tea but kept up the conversation. "John mentioned that you would probably need to stay at least until the end of the week."

"He did?" Hermione asked, shocked by this news. He hadn't mentioned it to her. She was under the impression that she could leave as soon as she was able to move without cringing in agony. It was true she wasn't there yet, but it was getting better. "Was he here this morning?"

"He was," Mrs. Hudson answered, bringing her a cup of tea and then returning to the tree. "He checked you over and said to tell you to check the mobile when you woke up." She pointed to where it sat on the coffee table.

Frowning, Hermione reached for the device and saw there was a text message reply from Harry finally. She quickly opened it and began to read, her frown deepening with every word…

_Hermione, I'm glad to hear you're safe. Things are a bit… hectic… right now at work. Everyone is all hands on deck but we're glad you're someplace safe. It might be a good idea for you to stay where you are, if you're able to. I'll call when everything settles down. Talk to you soon._

Whatever was going on at the Ministry must be bad enough that Harry would to insist she stay away. Perhaps it was related to her attacker? Heart beating frantically, she set aside the mobile and reached for the tea instead. She needed something to calm her nerves and ease her mind. Tea was as close as she was going to get right now, it seemed. Sipping the drink, she watched as Mrs. Hudson resumed decorating the tree.

"So it looks like I'm going to be here for Christmas," Hermione said quietly, her heart sinking as she thought about the unwelcome way Sherlock had made her feel just yesterday. She bit her lip and set the mug in her lap. "I hope that's okay." She peered up through her eyelashes to find Mrs. Hudson staring at her.

Mrs. Hudson sighed heavily and then came to sit by her, one hand moving to rest on her knee. "Don't you worry, Hermione. You're more than welcome to stay here for as long as you need." The kind way Mrs. Hudson was looking at her made tears spring to her eyes and the landlady quickly handed her a clean tissue from the pocket of her dress. "Don't you fret. Whatever is happening will blow over, and don't you mind Sherlock either."

"Sherlock?" Hermione asked, dabbing at her eyes and nose.

"Yes, he's always a little testy at the holidays but don't let him get to you." She frowned then and crossed her arms. "I really should call his mother about the way he treated you. John told me everything, of course. But don't you worry, we're going to make the flat up for Christmas and help you get back on your feet."

Hermione really didn't know what else to say for the moment so she simply nodded and thanked Mrs. Hudson for being so kind. They spent the rest of the morning chatting while the tree was finished and other decorations were added to the room. By the time Sherlock appeared at the door, eyes narrowed at his landlady, Hermione was feeling much better. She met his gaze when he glanced her way and attempted a smile, but it was not returned. Instead, he turned and again vanished into his room, leaving her to wonder if she was truly welcome at all.

* * *

 

"John?"

"Yeah?" the doctor asked, glancing up from the newspaper he was reading. He was sitting in the red chair by the fireplace, one foot slowly rocking the baby carrier his daughter, Rosie, was resting in on the floor.

Hermione sighed and ran a hand through her lifeless curls. She was in desperate need of a shower, or a bath, which she noticed was the only option in the loo. "Do you think that you'd help me get into the bath?" Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, hating that she had to ask for help with something so simple. Only, she knew she'd never be able to get into the old fashioned bathtub on her own right now. Her broken ribs were still giving her trouble, but there was no way she could go another day without bathing. "I was going to ask Mary earlier, but she didn't stay."

"Oh…" John looked slightly embarrassed as well, but then his doctor instinct kicked in and his face resumed its natural calm. He cleared his throat and stood from the chair to set the paper on the side table. He gave the sleeping Rosie a quick glance before making his way over to where she was still stuck on the sofa. "Sure, that's not a problem. It never even occurred to me that you might want to bath."

"I'm well enough right? I just can't stand another day like this," she told him, pointing at her dirty hair. "I'm used to taking a shower every day at home."

"I'm sorry, and yeah, let's ease you up." He helped her to stand, although she'd become used to doing so on her own. He led her to the bathroom and then they both stood there awkwardly. "So how do you want to do this?" he asked finally, not quite meeting her eyes.

"How about you turn around while I take off my clothes? Then I can stand in the tub wrapped in a towel," she offered, biting at her lip as she tried to keep her cheeks from coloring again.

"Right. Then I'll just help you to sit and you can run the water and do whatever you need to." John grabbed for a towel, again not looking her in the eye. This was way more awkward than she was hoping for, but they were both adults and he was a doctor. He'd examined her two days ago while she was unconscious. Sure, she wasn't entirely nude, but he must have see her chest at some point.

"That works for me," she replied quietly, accepting the towel and waiting for him to turn around. She undressed carefully, setting her button-up shirt, dress pants, and undergarments on the counter before wrapping the towel around her. "Ready."

John turned around and then they began the difficult task of getting her in the bathtub. It took more effort than they thought, and was a tad more painful than she'd hoped. By the time she was settled, her chest ached and she was breathing heavily. "Are you alright?" he asked, giving her a worried look.

"I'll be okay. The hot water will help, I hope," she said, not quite wanting to admit how much pain she was currently experiencing.

John exhaled slowly and then looked around the bathroom. "I'm going to take your clothes to get washed. I have a few of Mary's things upstairs that should fit you." He made for the door, grabbing the handle so he could close it for her privacy.

"Thank you," she muttered, causing him to stop and give her a smile.

"You're welcome, Hermione. Just give a shout when you're ready to get out. And then he left her, the door clicking shut behind him.

Hermione set about getting the water in the tub. She took care her hair first knowing that would take most of her energy. When that was taken care of, she quickly washed the rest of her body and then settled back to simply relax in the warm water. Closing her eyes, she thought about her strange predicament and wondered what was happening in the wizarding world. She was so relaxed that she didn't even hear the door open at first. It wasn't until she heard the scuff of a shoe and an intake of breath that her eyes flew open and she found herself staring at the startled face of Sherlock.

She blinked at him once, then twice before he finally averted his gaze. "I apologize, Ms. Granger," he mumbled, already backing toward the door. Obviously, he hadn't known there was anyone in the bathroom, or he was too distracted to notice. Having already been off to a rough start, Hermione wanted desperately to try and rectify that.

"Please," she said, stopping him from leaving. "You can call me Hermione." She wasn't worried about him seeing her naked, the water full of bubbles from when she'd shampooed her hair. He still seemed so uncomfortable as he looked briefly at the door and then back to her. His hand dropped from where it held the doorknob as he obviously decided to stay for a moment.

"I am sorry then, Hermione. I did not know that the bathroom was occupied. I'll leave you to finish your bath," he informed her with a single nod. He did meet her eyes this time, and his were not unkind as they previously were. Actually, this was the first time she'd seen him for longer than a minute since that first encounter. He'd been scarce, obviously coming and going when she was asleep.

"It's okay. I probably should be getting out anyway before my skin gets all wrinkly." She made a face and then laughed but stopped short as her chest gave a pain. She moved her one hand to rest over it, the water sloshing slightly,

"You should be careful," Sherlock warned, taking a step toward the bath as his eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Your fractured ribs are still fragile right now. Do you need help getting out from the bath?" He stopped by the edge of the tub, his head turning to search for what, she did not know.

"Well, actually, John said that he would come and get me when I needed out," she began to explain, but Sherlock quickly cut her off.

"John's feeding Rosie and she's being fussy," he stated simply and then stormed from the room. Hermione sat there in shock again, blinking stupidly as she wondered where he had gone and if she should call for John, after all. Before she could, however, Sherlock returned with the clothes John had promised and set them on the counter. Turning his back to her he snapped, "Let the water out, dry off, and then wrap yourself in the towel. I'll help you from the bath. I've already let John know."

Hermione snorted in disbelief. Was he serious? When she heard him sigh in agistation, she got to work, removing the stopper and waiting for the water to drain. It took longer than she wished, but when it was gone, she quickly dried off, trying not to irritate her injuries. After wrapping herself so that not a single indecent part of her was showing, she exhaled and informed Sherlock she was ready. He turned around quickly and inspected her and the bathtub as if calculating the best way to get her from inside. Muttering, more to himself than her, he said "It's the only way…"

Then he swooped forward, leaned over, and slid one arm under her bent knees before sliding the other under her arms. Before she could ask what he was doing, he was lifting her from the tub as if she were his newly wedded wife. She let out a little yelp, but he told her to relax. She did and it made the transition much easier. Once free of the tub, he helped to settle her on her feet and swifty turned from her once more. "Go on and get dressed. I'm going to take you into my room so you can sleep on a proper bed tonight. You'll never heal properly if you continue to sleep on that lumpy, old sofa."

"What?" Hermione asked, her hand pausing as she reached for the lounge pants and t-shirt John found for her to wear. "I can't sleep in your bed."

"Don't be ridiculous, Hermione," Sherlock sighed in irritation. "Of course you can. Now, do hurry up. You've moved around far more than you ought to be doing this evening and need to relax or those fractured ribs will never heal."

Staring at Sherlock's back, Hermione found herself speechless. What had John said to him to change his demeanor toward her so drastically? Just yesterday he was snapping at her to not get in his way and now… Now, he was willing giving her his bed to use until she was healed. Something inside of Hermione warmed at that, and she smiled finally reaching for the clothes and getting dressed. When she was finished, she tapped Sherlock lightly on the shoulder. He turned around and gave her a once over, nodding when he found her acceptable. Carefully, he placed his arm around her waist and began to lead her from the bathroom without saying another word.

Christmas lights twinkled along both sides of the hall outside the bathroom, and Hermione smiled as they helped light the way into the bedroom. She was still uncertain as to whether or not this was a good idea, but she didn't say so aloud. Sherlock's arm around her waist felt strong and comforting, something which she never would have guessed considering his cold outward appearance. When they were inside the bedroom, she turned and grinned so hard the cut on her cheek pulled, but she didn't notice the pain.

It appeared Mrs. Hudson had decorated every room of the flat, the wall above Sherlock's bed adorned with a haphazard strand of Christmas lights. Hermione couldn't help the giggle that left her lips when she saw it. The lights turned Sherlock's otherwise drab room into something a little more... _special_ , as it were. Not bothering to comment on the lights, Hermione allowed Sherlock to help her sit on the edge of the bed before he moved to adjust the pillows against the headboard. She watched without saying a word, both unsure what to say and afraid of breaking their amicable silence. When he was finished, he nodded and she understood that she was meant to get settled.

When she was comfortable, Sherlock lifted the thick quilt over her legs. It was much thicker than the one she was using on the couch and she smoothed her hands over the soft surface waiting for him to speak. She didn't have to wait long. "Are you comfortable?"

She nodded. "I am, thank you; although, now I get to feel bad about taking your bed too." She bit back her grin, watching as he rolled his eyes and walked over to the window. He fiddled with the latch, making sure it was secured before facing her once more. Was he concerned for her safety too? He turned around and ran a hand through his dark curls.

"It's nothing. I hardly use it." Silence settled around them again and Hermione found she didn't quite want Sherlock to leave the room yet. She was just starting to get to know him, his mystery unraveling with each passing moment. Maybe he wasn't as cold as she originally thought he was? Sighing, Sherlock clearly came to some sort of conclusion and walked back over to the bed. Reaching underneath it, he pulled out a box of books and placed it on the nightstand. "I noticed that you like to read. Feel free to pursue these tonight."

"Thank you," she replied, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. After the way Sherlock treated her before, his change in demeanor was throwing her for a loop. Clearing her throat, she decided she might as well push her luck and ease the tension between them even more. "I really do want to thank you for allowing me to stay here," she said softly, placing one hand on his forearm before he could move away. "I know that you'd rather I left, but I do want you to know I appreciate this all the same."

Sherlock peered down at her hand, his face softening ever so slightly. Sighing, he removed her hand from his arm and backed away. He stared at her for a long moment as if unsure what to say next. Eventually, he inhaled, exhaled, and then met her unwavering stare. "You're welcome. You may stay for as long as you need. I am the one who should apologize. Your presence here is not nearly as horrible as I originally feared it would be. Goodnight, Hermione." And then he slipped from the room, leaving Hermione sitting underneath the Christmas lights with more questions than answers about the man known as Sherlock Holmes.


	2. Light the Way Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146849789@N04/38561028695/in/dateposted-public/)  
>  In which Hermione remains at 221B longer than she hoped and she and Sherlock find themselves drawn to one another in more ways than either thought possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here is the second part of Light the Way. Actually, I think I have talked myself into turning this into something larger. I'm sighing up for Hermione's Haven #HGBigBang2018 where I plan on writing an expanded version of this story. It's going to take months, but when I do post the new version, I will rename this "Underneath the Christmas Lights" so that I can keep this title for the full tale. I hope you enjoy this, but if you do feel like it's missing something, that's because I held back a bit.
> 
> This was not beta or alpha read so any mistakes you find are definitely my own! Much love, xxDustNight
> 
> Song Recommendation: "Keep You Warm" by Sam Tsui  
> [Holmes for the Holidays Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/1246401351/playlist/1prfNYC9f8LMVVqPzgjs5l)

. . . .

" _I'll keep you warm,_  
Underneath the Christmas lights."  
\- "Keep You Warm" by Sam Tsui

. . . .

Christmas came and went, and with it, Hermione's hopes of being saved by Harry. In fact, she had only heard from him once more since that first message. He was brief, telling her that matters had yet to be resolved at the Ministry and that she was safest laying low. With the New Year quickly approaching, Hermione was starting to think that things may be more dire than originally assumed. At least, now, she didn't feel as much a burden as before.

Ever since the night Sherlock helped her get out of the bath and then offered her his bed, he'd been much more accommodating to her presence in 221B. With John busy with work, Mary, and Rosie, he hardly had the time to keep popping in multiple times a day to check on her recovery. Sherlock, on the other hand, was there more often than not, and suddenly eager to make sure she was on the mend. It got to the point where Mrs. Hudson mentioned that he had his own cases to solve.

Hermione saw him a bit less after that, but not substantially so. Not that she minded either way, but when Mrs. Hudson couldn't come upstairs for one reason or another and Sherlock was out on a case, she found herself wanting for company. Her ribs were healing quickly now that she was able to rest for over a week without pushing herself. This made moving about the flat a lot easier too. As she perused the bookshelves against the back wall, Hermione thought about what it might be like to get some fresh air.

Biting her lip, she dropped her hand from the spines of the books to glance out the window. Sighing heavily, she turned her attention to the people walking the pavement and the cars driving by. What she wouldn't do to be out there with them… Laughing at her silliness, she turned away from both the window and the books and gasped. Sherlock was standing in the middle of the room, somehow having come in without alerting her to his presence.

"You should be resting," he said by way of greeting, eyes roving over her form as if searching for a decline in her progress of healing.

"You're going to give me a heart attack if you keep sneaking up on me like that," Hermione pointed out, crossing her arms and trying to ignore the pull in her chest from her broken ribs.

"Why are you not resting?" He continued speaking as if she hadn't said anything. Walking to the mantle, he picked up the mail and began to rifle through it.

"I was bored of lying around in bed." She shrugged as he briefly glanced her way. "Besides, I've read all the books in your bedroom and needed new material."

Setting the mail back on the mantle, Sherlock picked up the knife and stabbed it through the envelopes. "I had at least twenty books in that room. You have read them all?" Sherlock was standing in front of her now, staring down into her brown eyes as if searching for something.

"I did. I'm a fast reader, and learner. Actually, as much as I hate it, I'm known as the brightest wi- _woman_  of my age." She chuckled, absolutely hating that endearment, and also at the fact she'd almost slipped up and revealed she was a witch. That would certainly make things more difficult, wouldn't it? Luckily, Sherlock either didn't notice or he chose to ignore her mistake.

"Hmm." His eyes flickered over her and then he stepped around her, heading toward the door. Donning his coat and scarf, he said, "Rest. Take the medicine John left for you. I'll be back this evening." And then he was gone, sweeping from the room and hurrying down the stairs.

Confused, Hermione went to the window and watched as Sherlock exited the building. He looked both ways before hailing a cab which quickly stopped and allowed him to slide inside. As the cab drove away, Hermione was left feeling alone and utterly lost. Why was he always doing this? All this time and still she felt like she knew little to nothing about the consulting detective. Granted, she wasn't being entirely truthful with him either, but still she managed to reveal snippets of herself to him.

Yawning despite the earliness of the day, Hermione decided to heed his words and made her way to the back bedroom. Standing in the doorway, she looked around the room. It was still lit by the Christmas lights Mrs. Hudson had decorated with, but it appeared much more organized than that first time she'd glanced inside. Had Sherlock tidied up the room without her realizing? Why would he do that? It's not like she minded the clutter of discarded books, teacups, and clothing all that much.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Hermione took the medicine prescribed to her by Dr. Watson and then curled up on the bed, pulling the cover overtop her body. She needed to get out of here and back to the Ministry and her world. The longer she remained, the more of a risk she became. She didn't need Sherlock or John figuring out she was a witch. As sleep took her, Hermione wondered what was happening in her world that required her to stay away.

* * *

 

"Mrs. Hudson? Can I ask you a question?"

Hermione was sitting in what was known as John's chair while the landlady dusted the small flat. It was a chilly day so Hermione was settled by the fireplace to keep warm. Mrs. Hudson stopped what she was doing and turned to her with a smile. Perching in the edge of Sherlock's chair she gave Hermione her attention.

"Of course, dear," Mrs. Hudson replied, settling back in the chair.

"Okay, it's just… It's about Sherlock." Hermione paused uncertain if it was okay to talk to Mrs. Hudson about such things. After all, she was his landlady not his mother or his keeper. That was probably more John and Mary's job than anything, but they seemed awfully busy lately with the holiday.

"Oh," Mrs. Hudson said quietly, glancing at her hands in her lap before lifting her gaze back to Hermione. "What is it that you care to know about him?"

"Well, I was just wondering if Sherlock has anyone he cares for." She blushed, looking away and feeling entirely silly about even asking at all. Swallowing thickly, she made to push up from the chair but Mrs. Hudson reached out and patted her knee. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked such a thing. It's not my business. I'm not even supposed to be here. I should have been gone long ago."

"You're fine. Honestly." Mrs. Hudson began, laughing lightly. "You are not the first one to wonder such a thing. But no, Sherlock is married to his work, or so he says anyways."

This was news to Hermione for she hadn't really seen Sherlock working too much in her time spent in 221 B. Granted, he did spend a ridiculous amount of time browsing only Merlin new what on his laptop. Occasionally, she did find that he ventured into the kitchen to fiddle around with his microscope, but he never really lingered for long.

"I really am sorry. I guess I just still feel like such a burden on all of you all the time." Hermione ran a hand through her curls and tried to give Mrs. Hudson a smile but she felt like it was off, so she stopped. "Do you think that Sherlock really doesn't mind me being here, or that he's just putting on a show for my benefit since I told John how he treated me that first day?"

Mrs. Hudson stood up and resumed her dusting, the corner of her mouth turned up into a smirk. "In my experience with Sherlock, he doesn't do things unless he wants to. He's very stubborn that way, sort of like my ex-husband." Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Mrs. Hudson paused again and threw Hermione a glanced over her shoulder. "Honestly, Hermione, I think that your presence here has been quite beneficial to Sherlock."

"Really?" Hermione questioned, seriously struggling to see how she could have benefited Sherlock in anyway when he made it so that they were never in the same room together for longer than a few moments time.

"You might not see it now, but I think that before you take your leave of us, you'll find that Sherlock Holmes actually has a heart under all that…" Here Mrs. Hudson made snooty face which caused Hermione to laugh.

Her giggling made her chest ache so she cut it off fairly quickly, but she appreciated Mrs. Hudson's sense of humor all the same. "Thank you for answering my question."

"You're welcome, dear," she replied, passing by her and laying a hand gently on her shoulder. "We all want to see you well again. It has been lovely getting to know you, I think that perhaps you should take this evening and try and get Sherlock to open up about himself, as well."

"How can I do that" Hermione questioned,staring up into Mrs. Hudson's kind face. "He hardly ever wants to talk to me about anything other than if I'm healing the way I should."

"You're clever," Mrs. Hudson noted. "I think that, between you and me, you'll be able to come up with something." Tapping the side of her nose, Mrs. Hudson gave her a wink and then disappeared back downstairs to her own flat, leaving Hermione alone to contemplate what exactly the landlady meant.

* * *

Hermione spent the remainder of the day trying to figure out a way she could get the elusive Sherlock to speak to her for longer than a few minutes. By midafternoon, she decided it was useless and retreated to the bedroom for a nap. When she awoke, there was still no news from Harry but Sherlock had returned. He was standing in the front room, shuffling through papers and muttering under his breath. A case, Hermione realized. He was working on a case.

Not wanting to disturb him while he worked, she wandered into the kitchen and found the drawer where she knew John stored the take-out menus. This was how she would get him to open up to her. She'd order dinner for the two of them and then when he was finished working, they could sit down and eat together. Surely, he wouldn't have anything to say against that?

Selecting the Chinese restaurant from down the street, Hermione snuck back into the bedroom and made the call. She was surprised to find that the worker recognized John's phone number and added the total to their ongoing tab. She thanked him and then went back into the living room to wait for their dinner to arrive. In the meantime, she enjoyed watching Sherlock work; he was so focused she didn't even think he registered her presence.

Hermione was so enraptured by his process that she never even heard the knock on the door. Sherlock must have, though, his head popping up and a deep frown forming on his lips as he glanced toward the stairs. When the knock didn't sound again, he returned to his work. Hermione knew she wasn't supposed to go down stairs as of yet, but still she pushed to her feet and started toward the door.

Mrs. Hudson came through the door before she could exit, rapping her knuckles on it as she went. "Hoo hoo!" she called, earning a disgruntled sigh from Sherlock. He didn't further acknowledge her presence. "Sherlock, the carrier is here with your dinner."

"I didn't order food," he replied curtly, waving her away in favor of flipping angrily through the pages of a book.

"No," Hermione spoke up from by the door. "That was me."

"You?" Sherlock slammed the book shut and rounded on her. "Why would you do that?"

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said with a bit of a warning to her voice. "The poor girl was probably hungry and you could use a break. You've been on this case for over a week now."

"I don't eat when I'm working." Sherlock crossed his arm as if he were a petulant teenager.

Despite herself, Hermione smiled, having to avoid Mrs. Hudson's gaze lest she fall entirely into laughter. "I'm sorry," she said instead. "I should have asked first. I just ordered off the take-out menu what items were starred."

"You see," Mrs. Hudson declared, walking forward and swatting him lightly on the arm. He gave her a stern glance, but she ignored it. "She even made sure to order your favorites. Now go downstairs and tip the delivery man."

Narrowing his eyes at the landlady, Sherlock huffed and then disappeared downstairs. His footsteps were loud on the stairs, obviously meant to convey his annoyance. Mrs. Hudson merely laughed and followed behind. As she left, Hermione caught her eye and mouthed, 'Thank you.' Honestly, if it wasn't for that woman, Hermione would be lost as to how to deal with Sherlock's slight temper. She had much to learn.

When Sherlock returned, he set the bag of food on the coffee table and allowed Hermione to sort it. They didn't speak as containers and chopsticks were divided out. In fact, Hermione was certain they wouldn't talk at all unless she did something. So, wandering over to where Sherlock and resumed working, she pushed away her nervousness and broke the uncomfortable silence.

"So," Hermione said hesitantly, digging in her carton with her chopsticks. "What sort of case are you working on?" She was nervous to talk with Sherlock, but determined to learn who he really was.

Chewing thoughtfully, Sherlock turned slowly to regard Hermione. Clearly, she was not going to go away. Gesturing toward the wall behind the desk where he'd hung a plethora of photos and a map, he figured he might as well test her skill. "Have a look. What do you see."

Setting down her take-out box, Hermione peered at what Sherlock had displayed. There were scribbled notes on the photographs, as well as red yarn pinned to connect certain parts of the map. It was odd to see someone else display their work, especially since this is exactly what she did on a daily basis working at the MLE. One spot in particular drew her attention so she pointed to it. "You're not just working any case… You're trying to solve  _mine_."

Sure enough, there was a star next to the spot on the map where she'd been attacked over a week ago. When she met Sherlock's gaze, he merely nodded, also setting aside his half-eaten dinner. "I found it odd when you had no one to come and retrieve you."

"You did want me to leave." Hermione swallowed down her disappointment. "I'm sorry."

"It matters not." As if that simple sentence settled the matter. Nodding back at his display, he asked, "What do you think? Have you any ideas what might be going on?"

"You want my help?" He nodded and she frowned. "Why?"

"Because there is something about you that I can't see, that I am missing." He ran a hand through his curls and stepped awfully close to her. "I can  _see_  everything else, the fact that you're alone by choice, that you work in a similar area as I do, that you sleep with one arm outstretched as if searching for someone to hold… But I can't see what's hiding under the surface. I need you to show me."

Mouth popping open, Hermione wanted to be angry that Sherlock had somehow figured out these things, or that he possibly watched her as she slept. However, she only felt more intrigued. If he was a mystery to her, she was even more of a mystery to  _him_. She couldn't tell him about being a witch, not yet at least, but she could help him try and solve the pattern of this case.

"Okay," she said with determination. Placing both hands on her hips, she nodded. "Let's have a look at this thing." Sherlock smirked at her gumption, clearly glad to see her feeling better. She tried not to blush as his gaze examined her; instead, focusing on the map in front of them.

They spent the rest of the night bonding over the case until she could barely keep her eyes open. Only then, did Sherlock force her to rest, one arm wrapped loosely around her shoulders as he guided her down the dimly lit hallway. As he tucked her into the bed, Hermione enjoyed the way his large hand lingered on her shoulder and the way his deep voice bid her goodnight. And it wasn't until sleep was nearly claiming her, that it occurred to her that the places on the map coincided with locations of Magical homes or structures.

* * *

 

When she woke up the next day, Hermione immediately sent a text to Harry asking about whether or not her suspicions were correct. Sherlock was absent from the flat, as was Mrs. Hudson. This left Hermione to examine the evidence on her own, using the solitude to her advantage. It was true she didn't have her wand; however, she had always been partial to nonverbal spells anyway. Glancing back and forth just to ensure she was truly alone, she reached out with her magic and tried to figure out a connection.

That was how John found her later that afternoon. "Hey, Hermione," he called, jerking her back to reality. When she stumbled, he quickly dropped his coat and made to grab her before she could hit the floor. "Whoa!"

Once he'd helped her to sit in Sherlock's chair, Hermione took a deep breath. "Thank you," she said breathily, chest heaving. It hurt and it was then that she realized she'd overexerted herself with the wandless magic.

"What happened? What were you doing," John asked, kneeling beside her and going to take her pulse. He frowned at whatever he calculated and then stood to go rummage through his doctor bag.

"I guess I just stood for too long. I'm trying to help Sherlock with his case." She accepted the medicine tablet he handed her, popping them in her mouth and then taking the glass of water he handed her. He hoped he didn't pester her further about it; she didn't want to lie about having used magic.

"Did he ask you to or something because if he did, I'm going to kill him. You're not supposed to be over exerting yourself." John sighed, truly concerned for her and she suddenly felt bad.

"I'm sorry, John," she apologized, relaxing into the worn leather chair. "I'll take it easy. I swear."

"Good." John moved to sit in his chair, rubbing a hand over his worn face. "Why are you helping Sherlock with his case, anyway?"

"Because it's mine," she replied simply, taking another sip of water. Already, she could feel a little bit of her strength returning. At John's startled look, she shrugged one shoulder. "And because I think it's related to the case my team is working on too."

"You're in law enforcement?" John looked surprised, to say the least. He ran a hand through his hair and reminded her of Harry for a moment.

She shrugged one shoulder, trying to appear nonchalant. "Sort of. Private sector. Very much a need to know basis." That was the best she could say by way of explanation without revealing her true self.

"Were you sent here by Mycroft?" he asked, suddenly causing her to frown.

"Who?" She had no idea who that might be, racking her brain for any mention of the name.

Shaking his head, he muttered, "Nevermind," and then made to stand. "Look, I came by to check on you, but you're not going to get any better if you don't take it easy, okay?"

"I'm going to relax the rest of the evening. I swear it." She smiled, crossing her heart with a gesture and earning her a laugh from the good doctor.

"That's what I like to hear. If you feel worse or anything at all, use the mobile I gave you to call Mary, or even bloody Sherlock. They can get in touch with me." He patted her on the shoulder and then bent to pick up his coat from where he'd dropped it on the floor. "I'll see you tomorrow for the New Year's party."

"Okay! Give Mary and Rosie my best." Hermione smiled, grateful that she was lucky enough to have been rescued by such a kind hearted man. John was great, and she felt bad for pushing herself. Clearing her throat, she managed to get his attention before he disappeared out the door. "And thank you, John. I appreciate all of this, really I do."

John's face softened and he cleared his throat, though she suspected for a different reason. "You're welcome, Hermione. Goodnight."

"Night."

* * *

 

Getting into the bath was easier now and so Hermione didn't bother disrupting Sherlock from his playing. He'd picked up his violin sometime after dinner and hadn't stopped playing since. The tune was unfamiliar to her, leaving her to assume he'd composed it himself. Mary said he did that often, composing music during emotionally temperamental parts of his life. She wondered what he was focussing on now as she relaxed in bathtub listening to the music flow in from the half-opened door.

Having taken care of her hair and body, she relished the warmth of the bath and closed her eyes as the beautiful music calmed her frazzled nerves. As she lay there, she thought not of the case, but of Sherlock and his persistence toward solving it. Was he doing it just because it was another case or was there something more there? Sighing, she hated that she hoped it was the latter. While Sherlock was still very much a mystery to her, she couldn't help but be compelled toward him.

It was maddening in a sense, being so enthralled in someone only to have them care less than nothing about you in return. At least, that's the way it appeared. Maybe solving the mystery of her attacker and the other similar instances would bring them closer together. The only issue was that she was still unable to comfortably walk the stairs (she'd tried) and Harry wanted her to remain here. That was the other thing…

Harry had confirmed her suspicions, her attack being one of many that occured over the course of three days in London. Someone had it out for Muggleborns, an issue that caused the Wizarding community to go on high alert. Hermione knew in her heart that she was incapable of helping her team of MLE agents and Aurors solve anything in this state, which was the only reason she remained in 221B with Sherlock. If she couldn't be out there in the fray, then she was going to keep aiding Sherlock in his deductions at the very least. Only, she had to do it without magic seeing as that drained her completely.

As Sherlock continued to play and Hermione's bathwater grew cold, she decided it was time to get out. Biting her lip, she really didn't want to call for him and interrupt his playing since she knew he was most likely thinking about the case. With a sigh, she let the water out of the tub and then waited for it to drain fully before attempting to stand. Surely, she was well enough by now to complete such a simple task as pushing herself upright in the tub? She did it all the time on chairs and the bed.

Holding her breath, Hermione gripped the edges of the tub and heaved herself upright. All appeared well; she didn't even feel too much of an ache in her chest. Carefully, she finished pulling herself into a standing position and then exhaled harshly. Breathing again, she smiled, thankful she'd successfully got herself up in the tub. In her excitement, Hermione made to step out of the tub; only, she didn't quite account for the fact that she probably used most of her energy.

Exhausted, her feet slipped on the still damp tub and she went flailing. Closing her eyes, she knew that if she hit the side with her ribs, she'd be in dire trouble, so in a last ditch effort, she wrenched her body around mid-fall. The side of the tub hit her back so hard the breath was immediately knocked from her body. She grunted from the impact, her body folding in on itself as she toppled over the ledge and landed on the tile floor in quite an undignified manner. Idly, she noticed that the violin had abruptly cut off at some point during all this.

With a gasp, Hermione found herself able to breathe once more. She took great heaving breaths as she tried to work through the pain in her body. She needed to move, to get up off this floor and wrap a towel around her naked form, but there was no way she was moving right this moment. Even the thought of sitting up made her want to cry. As the door to the bathroom was thrown open, she stared wide-eyed into Sherlock's shocked face.

"What the devil were you thinking!?" he asked, standing above her and taking in the entire situation. "Why didn't you call for my assistance?"

"I thought I could handle it on my own," she said and then winced as she tried to move. "I didn't want to disturb you."

"For the love of…" Sherlock trailed off and then bent down to help her sit up. "John is going to be furious with you if you caused any of your ribs to refracture." Pausing, he frowned as he was able to get Hermione to sit against the side of the tub. "Or rather, he's going to be furious with me for not taking proper care of you."

"It wasn't your fault," she said simply, pulling her legs up to her chest and covering herself. It hadn't really occurred to her, but she was, in fact, entirely nude. "I'm sure I'm fine. Other than being winded and achy, I don't think anything worse has occurred."

Sherlock began to pace, shaking his head at her attempt to placate him. "This will certainly set your healing back days, at any rate."

He continued rambling on, gesturing wildly in his apparent anger. Hermione wanted to smile, to laugh even, but she was cold sitting naked on the floor and she desperately wished to be in bed with some of the pain medicine John had prescribed for her. Deciding she'd better stop him before he worked himself up into a tizzy, Hermione cleared her throat so that he would stop.

"Uh, Sherlock?" she queried, lifting her gaze to his when he paused. "Do you think you could hand me a towel?" She gestured down her body with one hand, careful to keep herself covered as best she could.

Sherlock blanched, finally realizing the state she was in. "Oh! Yes, of course." He grabbed her towel from the rack and handed it to her before stepping back and averting his gaze.

"Thank you," she mumbled, a blush gracing her cheeks as she wrapped it around herself. "Could you help me up now, do you think?" She bit her lip, again embarrassed at even having to ask.

He stooped without comment and wrapped his arm around her waist to carefully hoist her upward. The pain was minimal, but even so, she stumbled as she was placed on her feet, the towel slipping to the floor. It was too late to do much about it, though. Sherlock took hold of her shoulders and held her flush against his body.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed quietly, her hands clutching at his white Oxford shirt. Her breasts were pressed against him and they were both breathing heavily. It took everything she had but somehow, Hermione peered up at Sherlock through her lashes. "I'm so sorry. I'm not normally this clumsy."

"It's quite alright," Sherlock murmured, his grip softening as he slid his palms down her arms, thumbs brushing over her soft skin. "Are you hurt?" He looked down into her eyes, obviously not worried about her lack of dress.

In fact, Hermione could have sworn that was concern reflected in his beautiful eyes. She swallowed, feeling rather warm all of a sudden. "I'm feeling okay, all things considered," she replied softly, dropping her gaze to his chest. She knew she should back away and try to get her towel, but something held her there, in his arms. "Sherlock… I-"

As if breaking from a spell, Sherlock inhaled sharply and released the hold he had on Hermione. "I presume you'll be well enough to walk to the bedroom unassisted," he said breezily and then nodded once before ducking around her and exiting the loo.

Hermione was left standing there, naked and entirely exposed like never before. What had she been about to say and why did Sherlock want to get away so quickly? Had he felt it too, that indescribable connection they shared? She'd certainly felt it, and had since that first night when he'd allowed her to use his bedroom. Turning slowly, Hermione wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the open door, her heart racing and a feeling she'd not experienced in quite some time flowing through her veins.

* * *

 

Midnight wasn't far off this New Year's Eve, and Hermione found herself smiling joyfully as she watched Rosie being bounced on John's knee. Sherlock was standing at the window, his back toward the room as if having so many people together thoroughly annoyed him. Mrs. Hudson, and Mary were in the kitchen tidying up the leftovers and making tea while she sat in Sherlock's chair and listened to John recount his and Sherlock's previous cases. It was fun and frivolous and Hermione felt better than she had in ages.

When the clock finally stuck midnight, Rosie was fast asleep in Mary's arms but they all toasted and celebrated the New Year all the same. Well, everyone save Sherlock, who had wandered into his bedroom. Hermione could see him in there, going through his drawers and tidying up as if it wasn't a holiday. There was no reason to say anything on the matter seeing as the others paid him no mind. She figured it was safe to assume this was just his way.

"Goodnight, Hermione," Mary said as she passed Rosie to John so she could give her a hug. "Happy New Year." She kissed her on the cheek before letting her go.

"Same to you, Mary, and you too, John," she said in reply, giving her friends each a hug in return. It was nice to celebrate with friends, even if they were new ones. She did miss Harry, Ginny, Ron, and the rest of the Weasley clan dearly, but right now it was unsafe in her world and she needed to be here.

When they were gone and only Mrs. Hudson remained, the landlady handed her two glasses of champagne and nudged her in the direction of the bedroom. "Go see if you can't cheer him up," she whispered with a grin. "He's always such a grump on the holidays." Once Hermione had taken the glasses, she added, "I'm off to bed. See you in the morning, love. Happy New Year."

Hermione said nothing, simply stared after the landlady wondering if perhaps she knew more than she let on. Finally alone, she had a decision to make; either she could take the champagne to the kitchen and fall asleep on the couch, or she could go back into the bedroom and offer Sherlock a glass. Against her better judgement, Hermione chose the latter, figuring she only lived once. Hell, she'd almost been beaten to death in a dirty alley; certainly, having unwarranted feelings for Sherlock Holmes wasn't nearly as dangerous?

She felt awkward standing in the doorway with two glasses full of bubbly champagne. The lights in the rest of the flat had been turned down, the only remaining light coming from those of the Christmas lights still strung up along the hall and above the bed. Sherlock was standing by the window, his back to her and both hands in his pockets. Taking a deep breath, Hermione stepped fully into the room and sighed which caused him to turn around.

"Happy New Year, Sherlock," she greeted him softly, extending one of the glasses towards him. He regarded her for a moment before striding forward. He slid one hand from his trousers and accepted a glass of champagne, surprising her. She lifted her glass with a little smile. "Cheers."

Sherlock said nothing still, simply clinked his glass against hers and took a sip of the bubbly beverage. She made sure not to drop her gaze as she drank deeply, enjoying the way the bubbles made her nose tickle. The silence was getting them nowhere and Hermione was tired of silence. She wanted answers. She wanted to know more about Sherlock and why she felt so compelled toward him. Setting her champagne on the bedside table, she turned to Sherlock and crossed her arms.

"Look, I just want to apologize. Again." She tucked a curl behind her ear and took a step toward the detective. "I know we've discussed this previously, but I want to apologize for being a burden here. I've been thrown into your life, taken your bed and your time, forced myself into your work, and overall I feel like you just can't stand my presence at all."

She sighed and raked a hand through her curls because,  _damn him_ , Sherlock still didn't even say a word. "I have tried over and  _over_ again to get to know you better because I feel like we have this  _connection_ , but you never let me in," she continued, finally eliciting a response from the man. He blinked and then frowned, looking around the room as if to say,  _I'm here now, aren't I?_  Huffing, she ignored her inner musings and carried on ranting. "Is it me, Sherlock? Is there something wrong with me that you just don't like, that makes you wish I had never been attacked so close to your doorstep?"

Sherlock smirked then, and gave a small shake of his head as he watched Hermione breathe heavily. In turn, she watched him, wanting to throttle him for smirking. He chuckled, the sound amused and deep, so deep she practically felt it in her soul. Merlin, what was happening to her her? Slowly, painstakingly so, Sherlock closed the space between them with purposeful footsteps. His eyes never left hers, as if he was seeing her for the first time, and maybe he was. She hadn't been so bold previously, too injured to do much more than lay around. Perhaps, he was seeing her in a new light, one where he found her interesting enough to look further.

"Do you truly want to know what's wrong with you?" he asked her, voice sending shivers down her spine.

"What's that?" Hermione asked in return, completely taken aback. She was a bit breathless after her rant, but she had a feeling it had nothing to do with her remaining injuries and entirely with the way Sherlock was staring at her right now. And his voice. Sweet Salazar, that voice was giving her the naughtiest of ideas.

"Nothing," he replied simply, before setting aside the glass of champagne. " _Absolutely_  nothing." He didn't wait for her to say anything further, pulling her close and kissing her soundly.

Startled, it took Hermione a second to realize what was happening. Sherlock's mouth on hers was strange, or rather, unexpected really. For days she'd wondered what it would be like to get to know this man, and here he was snogging her senseless. Deciding she no longer cared, she closed her eyes and returned the kiss. Her hands found their way into his hair, fingernails scraping his scalp. He moaned into her mouth and she nearly melted into a puddle from the sound.

She was pressed so firmly against his body, she could feel the contours of his muscles under his Oxford shirt. But she wanted to feel more. She needed to feel all of him, and now. Separating their mouths, she simply stared at him, panting, her eyes burning with a fire she'd thought was gone forever. He was watching her,  _examining_  her, wanting to know if he'd overstepped his boundaries. Reaching forward with surprisingly steady hands, she began unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his pale skin to her inch by inch.

He helped her shed the shirt when she was finished before reaching out and grabbing hold of her waist. Tugging her back to him, his lips found hers for a brief moment before sliding down to trail wet, hot kisses along her neck. She could feel him trembling, but she was too. This time, her hands shook as they reached for his trousers, his arousal tenting the front of the expensive fabric. That was for her, she thought, and she moaned as he nipped at the base of her throat.

After unfastening his trousers, Hermione slid one hand inside, stroking him through the cotton fabric of his boxers. He was hot and hard and long, and Hermione wanted him inside of her like she couldn't believe. Sherlock had stopped his kisses to pant wantonly into the crook of her neck so it was easy for her to disentangle herself. She stopped her ministrations for a moment just so she could pull her own shirt over her head. It hurt, but she ignored the pain as a fresh wave of desire rocked through her.

Sherlock was staring at her hungrily, his pupils blown wide like he was high. Maybe he was. Maybe they both were. Hell, she was drinking champagne on top of her pain medicine and she knew from quiet conversations with Mrs. Hudson that Sherlock was prone to using every now and then for a case. Forcing such thoughts away, Hermione quickly removed her jeans, and wasted no further time before removing her socks, bra, and knickers as well. Now, she stood in front of Sherlock, naked and baring her soul.

His eyes roamed over her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, taking in the valley between her breasts and the curve of her hips. She was far from perfect, scars from the war and recent years marring her body. But as she continued to stare at Sherlock, his hands removing the last of his clothes and revealing his entire self to her, she realized he had scars too. Cuts and slashes, and what appeared to be a bullet wound showed his own battles he had won. Sherlock was not perfect and neither was she.

Swallowing, audibly, she reached out and placed her hand over the bullet wound scar. "You have survived much," she whispered, lifting her eyes to meet his gaze.

Sherlock's hand gently reached out to cup her chin. "So have you."

He kissed her then, much more tenderly than before. She walked backward slowly, leading him to the edge of the bed as they kissed. He helped her onto the high mattress, waiting until she'd shuffled backward before crawling atop himself. Hermione's heart was racing as she stared up into Sherlock's eyes, everything she wanted and more was reflected there. "Please," she asked, wanting nothing more than to be entirely filled by him.

He nodded and placed a tender kiss to her forehead. As Sherlock slid inside of her, she cried out his name. Her hands slid down his back, feeling his muscles pull taut as he made love to her. She met him thrust for thrust, wanting nothing more than for this to last forever. He was close, she could tell, so she took matters into her own hands, sliding one hand down to rub at her swollen nub. She wanted to find completion together, and Sherlock nodded, knowing what she was after.

With her other hand, she tugged his face down to meet hers, her tongue sliding into his mouth for a taste. He tasted of tea, champagne, and perhaps a bit of tobacco… She didn't mind it though. When the rhythm of his hips became erratic, Hermione sped up her mintrations, and that was all she needed. She came on a cry, tears springing to her eyes as Sherlock continued to move within her. He helped her to ride out the orgaasm for a moment before, he too, let go. Her name was whispered into the crook of her neck, so reverently she wanted to cry all over again.

When it was over, Hermione could barely breathe, her heart was so full. As if knowing this, Sherlock retreated from her body and curled onto his side. Pulling her close, he pressed his body to hers and settled his palm over her heart. It was comforting, more compassionate than she thought the man was capable of. She wanted to speak, to say something momentous, but words escaped her. Desperately, she'd wanted to unravel the mystery of Sherlock, and here it was. He was just as lonely as she, and now they had to figure out where to go from here. Wrapped in Sherlock's embrace, she was warm and content underneath the Christmas lights. Sleep took them both easily, but neither would be prepared for what the morning brought.

* * *

 

"Hermione?!"

Slowly, Hermione felt herself pulled from sleep. Behind her, Sherlock's body was still snug against her, his hand holding her tightly against him. But something pulled her from her dreams… Dreams where she and Sherlock were together and happy and this entire ordeal was over. She was going to let herself go back to sleep when she heard it again, knowing it hadn't been part of her dream.

"Hermione? Are you here?"

Fully awake now, Hermione gasped. Sherlock, too, must have heard it because he was up and out of the bed instantly. Thankfully, he had enough sense to throw on his blue dressing gown. Frowning, he tossed her his spare. She quickly crawled to the edge of the bed and slid to her feet before wrapping herself in it. Sherlock left the room, apparently eager to find out who was calling on her so early in the morning.

"Who are you?" the voice came again and she paused while tying the sash.

"Harry!?" Moving quickly now, she exited the bedroom and ran down the hall. She nearly rammed right into the back of Sherlock, who was stood frozen in the doorway. She peered around his tall form to find her best friend standing in the middle of the front room, a panicked look on his face.

"Harry! Oh my goodness, thank  _Merlin_ you're here!" She rushed around Sherlock and all but threw herself into his waiting arms. Tears poured down her face as he hugged her, carefully, and then released her to have a better look.

"Hermione, you're a sight for sore eyes. How are you? Are you feeling better?" Harry held her at arm's length, checking her over and trying to make sure she was all in one piece.

"Yes," she breathed, so full of relief at seeing a familiar face. "I'm much better. I wish I'd known you were coming. I would have been awake." She blushed then, reminded suddenly of Sherlock and why she'd still been fast asleep. Biting her lip she peered over her shoulder to find the detective standing in the same place. "Uh, Harry, this is Sherlock Holmes. This is his flat."

Harry smiled, obviously not minding that Sherlock was in a dressing gown. He stepped forward and extended his hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Harry Potter. Thank you for allowing Hermione to stay here."

Sherlock looked at his hand and then to Hermione before finally taking hold and shaking once. He dropped the shake and then took a breath. "You're here to take her back to your world," he said by way of greeting.

Hermione frowned when Harry gave her a strange look. Something wasn't right with that statement, and she felt her heart start to race as panic rose. "What do you mean?" she asked him, taking a single step toward her best friend. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him release his wand from the holster in his sleeve.

"I think I have known for quite some time that while you appear normal enough, there was something else lingering beneath the surface. Your comment from earlier confirmed it," Sherlock explained, crossing his arms and staring at her intently.

"My comment?" Hermione really had no idea what he was talking about.

"Merlin."

"Oh…" She trailed off, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks. She'd done so well not to use that exclamation, but in her excitement, she'd slipped up. Sighing, she turned to Harry, a sad smile playing on her lips. "I have to tell him."

Harry, with his keen eyes, observed his best friend and then Sherlock. Noting their state of dress amongst other things, he closed his eyes. "Damn it, Hermione. You just had to let that heart of yours get in the way…" He said it in jest, though, one hand coming to rest gently on her shoulder. "Fine. Go on, but make it quick. The Minister wants to meet with you this morning. I'll be waiting outside."

Hermione waited until Harry was gone before turning back to Sherlock. He was looking at her with expectant eyes, his jaw tense in anticipation. Sighing heavily, she ran both hands through her messy curls and decided it was easier to just come out and say it. "Sherlock, I've been keeping a secret from you and everyone else not because I wanted to, but because it's against the law of my people to just randomly reveal it unless absolutely necessary."

"Go on," Sherlock said, turning and beginning to head back to the bedroom.

Confused, Hermione blinked at his retreating form a second before hurrying after him. In the bedroom, he began redressing, paying her no mind as she stood in the doorway. "Uh, okay. This is going to make me sound completely nutters, but I'm a witch."

Sherlock paused as he was pulling up his trousers, his frown deepening. When he came to some sort of conclusion, he finished pulling them up and fastening them before meeting her stare. "You can do magic."

"Yes." She bit her lip, watching as he buttoned his shirt and then tucked it in. "I can do magic, if I have my wand, that is." He was standing there staring at her, his beautiful eyes reading her like an open book now. She felt utterly exposed under his scrutiny. "But I lost it when I was attacked. If I had it, I could have healed myself and been on my way ages ago. I'm so sorry for keeping that from you, but I had no choice and Harry couldn't come to get me with the other attacks happening."

"Other attacks." Now, Sherlock moved, striding forward and brushing past her to the living room. She again followed, finding him staring at the mess of papers and photographs that was his current case. "These are related to your magical world."

"Yes," she answered hesitantly. "Harry and I work for what is known as the Ministry of Magic. He is an Auror, someone who specializes in finding Dark wizards, and I am part of the Magical Law Enforcement."

"A wizarding police officer," Sherlock said with a smirk, turning to look at her. "That is how you knew how to help with the case."

"I do this all the time," she said with a smile, gesturing at his work. "You and I are quite similar when it comes to solving cases."

Stepping away from the table, Sherlock came to stand in front of Hermione. He took her chin in his hand and stared down into her eyes. "You have lied to me, though I find I cannot be angry with you." He dropped his hand as a frown formed on his face. Stepping away from her, he said, "However, I am afraid you are about to be quite furious with me."

"What? Why?" Confused, Hermione stood there watching as Sherlock walked over to the mantle. Shuffling around the papers and the skull, he slid the tip of his finger into a crack at the edge of the wall. With wide eyes now, Hermione watched as a wand,  _her wand_ , was pushed into view. Without a word, he walked over and handed it to her. "This is my wand," she said breathless, accepting it from him and holding it close to her chest.

"I found it in your coat that first night you were here," he admitted and then turned away from her again. He entered the kitchen, taking a seat at the table to pull his microscope towards him.

Feeling a burst of anger, Hermione gripped her wand and used it to cast clothes upon herself. Sherlock paid her use of magic no mind, picking up a sample to examine on the microscope. "You had my wand the whole damn time I was here and never thought to mention it to me?"

"I was afraid you were a criminal."

"A criminal?!" Hermione threw her free hand up into the air as she stormed into the kitchen. "I was beaten to within an inch of my life and you bloody well thought I was a  _criminal_?"

"I am careful these days."

He wouldn't look up from the microscope and Hermione felt her heart breaking. It was stupid, but that was how she felt. Two weeks she'd spent in this flat getting to know Mrs. Hudson, John, Mary, and Rosie and yet, Sherlock was  _still_ a bloody mystery to her. Even after last night. She knew she was rather closed off herself, but she'd hoped Sherlock wouldn't be just another notch on her wand. She' hoped he was something more, but now she wasn't so sure.

"All this time I just wanted to know who you really were…" She trailed off, throat clogged with emotion. "I thought maybe there was something…" Nope. She stopped, opened her mouth and then closed it again. She wasn't going to do this. If this was meant to be how it ended, she didn't want to make false declarations. Sighing, she tucked away her wand and moved to the living room where her coat was still hung on the chair. She put it on and turned to say farewell. "You know what, nevermind. Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes."

"Goodbye, Hermione Granger."

Sherlock made no attempt to glance her way as he said this and so, with a heavy heart, Hermione walked out the door and down the stairs. With every step she took, her chest ached something fierce, but it wasn't from her healing ribs. No, it was from something else, but there was nothing she could do about that. Down here, Mrs. Hudson had already taken down the Christmas lights, but that was okay. The darkness was where she felt she belonged anyway.

* * *

 

Harry stood waiting by the cab, but for some reason, she could not go to him. On the doorstep of 221B, Hermione felt more conflicted than ever before. Something had changed within her during her time spent with Sherlock. Dragging her teeth over her bottom lip, she looked at Harry, who was waving her on, and then back inside. Sherlock hadn't followeed her downstairs, choosing instead to remain seated at his microscope in the kitchen.

Knowing that she needed to return to her world, Hermione took a shuddering breath and a step down onto the pavement. Inside, her heart ached, more so than when her ribs had been newly broken. Swallowing, she took another step toward Harry, somehow knowing that if she left now, she would never see Sherlock again. Stumbling to a stop, she felt the sob bubbling up inside of her before she could force it down. Harry's face fell, but she held up a hand so he wouldn't come to her.

"Harry, I-" Unable to speak, she just shook her head as tears formed in her eyes. She didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay. With Sherlock…

She didn't have to say anything further, her friend seemed to understand. He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips as he opened the door to the cab. "Hermione, it's okay. I understand." He sighed, sliding into the cab and staring out the door at her. "Take the time you need. We'll be waiting when you're ready to return to us."

Hermione hesitated… How could she just skirt her responsibilities and stay here with Sherlock. What was she thinking? As if realizing she was second guessing herself even further, Harry laughed, drawing her attention to him.

"Hermione," he said with bright eyes. " _Go_."

"Thank you, Harry," she said with relief before turning on her heel and dashing back up the few steps and into 221B. Ignoring the lingering pain from her fading injuries, she raced up the stairs and quickly turned left so she could enter the kitchen.

Sherlock was exactly where she left him, eyes peering through the microscope with such intensity there was no way he even knew she could be standing there. Torn between bursting into tears for reasons unknown and catching her breath, Hermione shuffled forward and observed his still form. His shoulders were tense, back just a tad too straight, and that was all the indication she needed that he knew she was really there. She needed to know if he felt this too, whatever this was that she currently felt between them. Was it love? Perhaps, but she felt like it went deeper than that.

"Sherlock?" she tried, placing a hand on his shoulder. Their initial farewell had been so abrupt, so tense, that she was certain he'd ignore her entirely. "Sherlock,  _please_."

Something in her plea must have stirred him, for after taking a shuddering breath of his own, he lifted his head and peered over his shoulder. His eyes were shining, as if he too had been crying, but that was ridiculous. Why would the great Sherlock Holmes cry? She didn't have the time to think on it as he rose from his chair and carded a hand through her curls.

"You stayed." She nodded, so he continued. "Yes, but why?"

"I think you know why." Placing her hand on his chest, she gazed up into his face, losing herself in his eyes. "There's something about you that I can't explain, but it draws me in. I want to discover what that is."

Sherlock leaned into her touch, his eyes searching Hermione's for deception, though he found none. "You would stay simply to learn more about me?"

Hermione laughed lightly, shaking her head as she moved her hand to cup his cheek. "No, Sherlock, don't you see? It's more than that. I want to stay because I think I'm falling in love with you."

Sherlock merely blinked, and for a second, Hermione thought he would shy away from her declaration. Instead, he took her by surprise, surging forward and capturing her lips and kissing her adoringly. Hermione, let herself go, wanting nothing more than to remain with Sherlock forever. It appeared the acerbic man felt the same as she, his kisses full of passion and something, dare she say it, more. It no longer mattered that they were from different worlds, they had found one another and together their love would light the way…

**Author's Note:**

> This story was formerly known as 'Light the Way'. As of December 20, 2018, this story was expanded into a full version entitled 'Light the Way'.


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